


Sine Qua Non

by dracofiend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-17
Updated: 2009-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofiend/pseuds/dracofiend
Summary: He passes a hand over his face and takes a few seconds to silently, pointlessly curse the Dark Lord, himself, and the wretchedness of magic for burdening him with something so fantastic and absurd as true love for Harry Potter.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 9
Kudos: 108





	Sine Qua Non

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2009 Snarry Games. Please try the gorgeous podfic of this story by JocundaSykes, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/57548710).

Severus loves him.

The scales of academic probability fall from Severus' eyes and it becomes incontrovertible fact, the moment Potter finally gets to his bloody point and asks if Severus might consider teaching him Legilimency.

"No," he answers Potter curtly.

Potter is silent. Severus doesn't look up from the parchment on his desk. It is an agenda, for tomorrow's quarterly meeting with the board of governors. 

"Headmaster," Potter begins again, more determinedly. "I understand it's a lot to ask and as I said, I wouldn't have dreamed of asking it because you've got so much to do as it is, but I thought—well, in light of the war and everything we've been through, that, er, I could—"

"You saved my life, once," Severus interrupts, fixing a hard eye on the boy. "Once. That does not entitle you to my time and attention whenever you choose, for whatever purpose you name."

"Of course not!" Potter shakes his head with such vigor it's odd that his glasses don't come loose. His vehemence surprises Severus, a little. "That's totally ridiculous!" Potter makes a small laugh at the back of his throat and moves uneasily in his seat. The smile on his face is anxious, but a smile nonetheless. Severus' head throbs. 

"No one knows better than me how much I owe you—er, except you, of course, you'd know better—best, really," Potter says in a rush. "What I meant to say was, I thought I could—since we've been getting on much better than when I was in school—I figured I'd just ask and see what you thought of the idea, because there's no one else I _could_ ask—"

Severus' brows are high; his mouth is firmly down. "I believe the Auror Division provided you with options for a qualified Legilimens. My name was not among them." He'd made sure of that, when they'd asked, after scrubbing his record clean with all the readiness of a child ordered to finish chores.

"No," the boy responds with another shake of his head, "I mean, yes, they did give me a list, but I'd—I'd rather not go to any of them because I don't—I'm not comfortable with them training me in Legilimency, because it's so—it's just—"

"Invasive," Severus says. Potter creases his mouth in acknowledgement and twists slightly in his seat. 

Severus looks back down at his agenda. "That is the nature of Legilimency. If you intend to acquire the skill I suggest you get used to it—it's unlikely you'll suffer it at the hands of anyone with whom you are _comfortable_."

There's a brief silence during which Severus pretends to continue his review, ended by the scrape of a chair. Potter is getting up, his expression one of forced stoicism. He opens his mouth as if trying to form a word, then says, "I'm sorry I—thanks for meeting with me." He moves around the chair and pushes it into place. Severus can see the small shift of his throat. "Maybe if you could—who do you think I should request as my first choice—August Watts-Chorley or Roberta MacGinty? I thought those two seemed the best off the list they gave me—do you know them?"

Potter is standing behind the chair and forgetting to think about his hands, which are gripping the top—not that it matters, as his disappointment is palpable. To Severus, it fills the entire room. 

"MacGinty is the superior Legilimens, without question," Severus says, focusing on the text before him without an atom of comprehension, "although you might find Watts-Chorley to be more suited to teaching it, particularly at an introductory level. Such is often the case—masters of the art can't be bothered to explain it." He pinches his mouth shut before this can develop into a bona fide conversation. 

Potter makes a _hm_ that has Severus raising his eyes. "Not always, though," Potter mumbles, with a tilt of his head. "MacGinty it is." He releases the chair with an awkward pat. "I guess I'll see you later? Good luck at that meeting tomorrow—and with the rest of term and everything." 

He's nearly at the arched door when Severus crumbles. "You're obviously not in the habit of asking any favors—but I suppose it's to be expected of one whose desires have simply fallen at his feet," Severus snaps, bringing Potter's face around sharply. "Why should I teach you when I've a school to run?" Severus is well aware of the reason he _will_ teach Potter, but Potter, thankfully, is not so enlightened. Yet.

Potter's face works for a moment. "To be honest I haven't come up with an especially good answer to that—but I asked you because it's hard to learn Legilimency from someone you don't know or trust." 

Severus presses his mouth together. This expression of faith is not conducive to orderly thought, or any thought save the kind Severus would prefer to avoid. He hears Potter step down the series of stairs leading to the exit.

"One lesson," Severus barks. The words burst from him like an overlong-held breath. "One lesson to judge whether you're worth the trouble. My office tomorrow morning, eleven o'clock. You are to revise." 

The pause that follows smacks of surprise. "Yes sir," comes the clipped response at last. "Is there any particular text I ought to be—"

"I'm afraid I'm due elsewhere, do show yourself out." Severus rises abruptly, agenda in hand, and sweeps from the room to the adjacent chamber. He waves the door shut behind him with a satisfying clang and stands for a moment, willing himself to acknowledge the reality of his position. He passes a hand over his face and takes a few seconds to silently, pointlessly curse the Dark Lord, himself, and the wretchedness of magic for burdening him with something so fantastic and absurd as true love for Harry Potter.

+++++ 

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Severus murmurs at Potter's arrival, with an air of pre-occupation that he doesn't entirely feel. Or rather, he does—but it's hardly the curriculum he's in the midst of approving that pre-occupies him. "I mentioned revision yesterday—let us assess what you've absorbed." He finishes skimming the last lines of the parchment and scrawls his initials on the page, without bothering to look up. "Go on and cast."

Potter does nothing—then asks, "Er, you want me to cast _Legilimens_ on you?"

Severus turns to the next sheaf of papers on his desk. "Unless you'd rather be expelled from my office without the benefit of the door, yes, that would be the spell to cast," he says briskly.

He can picture Potter blinking; he hears Potter's robes rustle as he fishes out his wand. "Um, okay." There's another moment's hesitation, then the sound of decisive trainers crossing the carpeted floor. In the next instant the monthly budget report that Severus is reading is suddenly obscured by outspread fingers—Severus whips his head up with a frown and is met by Potter's eyes. They are not green in this light, but dark, fixated on Severus' within unmoving lids. Potter looks as if he's attempting to liberate them from his face by expanding the sockets that house them. _Legilimens,_ Potter whispers. Severus' mouth twitches—he just manages not to laugh.

"What in blazes are you doing?" he asks, with a crispness devoid of the last trace of humor. Potter's lashes flick and he takes a step back from Severus' desk, disarraying a few quills in the quill-stand as he withdraws his wrist.

"Oh, sorry," he says as he tries to set them right again, knocking over more quills in the process. "I was casting _Legilimens_ …which I'm assuming didn't work." His brow furrows as he stuffs the quills back in place. "I mean, I didn't see anything—were you Occluding me, or…?"

"'Or' would be quite right," Severus replies. "As far as I can tell you've done nothing more than jumble my quills and papers and thrust yourself rudely onto my desk." Severus catches his wince—it's wording that might, to his humiliation, pass for wishful thinking. 

"I thought you had to make eye contact…" Potter begins.

"Rubbish," Severus snaps, and proceeds to prove his point by dropping his gaze to the budget report and plowing into the boy's mind.

He hears Potter's quick exhale and sees panic—the Dark Lord—himself in a classroom, his hand closed round Potter's neck—he permits Potter's belated and flimsy efforts to push him back out. 

"Bloody—"

"I said you would need to get used to it," Severus cuts in, still skimming the figures. "Given the laughable state of your Occlumency, there's no question that you are well beyond my help. Good day." He turns the page with a twist of his wrist.

"Wait—that wasn't—I'm not here to learn Occlumency again!" Potter sputters. "And that wasn't fair—I know what you're going to say but this isn't a war, this is supposed to be a lesson so you can bloody well stop attacking me and start teaching me how to do it back!"

Severus answers this tirade by casting his mind at the boy. When he meets a decent—not a particularly noteworthy, but decent—mental blockade he initials the last page of the report, sets it aside, and raises his eyes to Potter's, withdrawing the spell. Potter's posture remains tensed.

"Sit down," he says to Potter's mutinous face. 

+++++

After several weeks and several lessons, for which there are no set plans—only Severus' brisk indication at the conclusion of each that there will be one more, at a time suited to his own schedule—Potter inquires as to his progress. Severus tells him frankly that he meets expectations.

When the boy's face appears inclined to light up, Severus clarifies, "You're abysmal. I've never seen anyone remain impervious to improvement for such a length of time."

Potter's expression blanks, causing an odd twinge in Severus' chest that he conscientiously ignores. "Then why bother to give me all these lessons?" Potter asks stiffly.

It's an unfortunately sensible question. "It's my eternal optimism—I'm sure your next effort will bear some fruit," Severus snaps. "Now pay attention—Legilimency is a difficult and complex process, but at its core it is simply the desire to share in what your object knows. You mustn't treat it as an attempt to read his mind or extract his memories or any of that nonsense—don't interrupt, a true Legilimens is certainly capable of those things but that is not the essential aim of the spell. Which you would understand, if you had read the chapters as I had instructed some days ago."

"I _did_ read them," Potter grumbles, flexing his shoulders. Severus raises a skeptical brow and Potter adds, "Well, I looked at them anyway. I barely have any time, what with the regular training and this on top—"

"Mr. Potter." Severus puts away his wand and swivels back to his desk. "Apologies for imposing on your overtaxed life—would you care to reschedule? Or better yet, why not just drop in at any time, as I really haven't much else to do?"

Severus sits down with a flourish of robes, pulls a sheaf of papers to him, and begins reading. Potter's _sorry,_ when he says it, is delivered with a pained sigh, and under different conditions, Severus would've hexed him and thrown him out. 

"Professor," Potter says, "I didn't mean it like that—I appreciate all the time you spend teaching me, very much. I understand you're doing me a huge favor and you're right, I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain; I should've done the reading. I'll do it tonight, I promise."

Severus takes up a quill and begins writing, audibly, with his head bent toward the list of proposed supplemental course books. Potter appears to be waiting for a response; Severus doesn't oblige until Potter shuffles nearer.

"Headmaster—" Potter starts, his tone slanted toward apology now. 

Severus despises the sensation of giving in to— _this_ and cuts Potter short. "Legilimency is not a requirement for Aurors."

Potter shuffles yet nearer. "I know." He's staring again—Severus can feel it. "But all the best Aurors can do it, so I have to learn how to, too. From the best."

Severus purses his mouth with a snort and glances up to berate Potter for his disgusting show of bootlicking, only to find himself unmanned by the boy's gaze. 

"You expect me to be moved by your honeyed words," he says after a moment, managing a sufficient degree of dryness.

Potter blinks. "I—well I think 'expect' is putting it a bit strongly but I—" He pauses, and the side of his mouth cocks up just slightly. "Are you?"

Severus looks back at Potter's half-crooked smile and his unkempt hair; at the hint of his own dim reflection scowling from the round lenses.

He fixes the scowl firmly in place as he rises from his chair, ordering the boy to get his bloody wand at the ready and his bloody mind prepared. 

+++++

Despite his best efforts (at this stage, Severus can grudgingly acknowledge to himself that they are, indeed, the boy's best efforts), Potter is so thoroughly inept at Legilimency of any fashion that the revelation of Severus' condition, when it comes, stops Severus' inhale in the midst of his throat. Severus had known this would happen—and yet the lack of any promise in Potter's previous attempts must have softened Severus' vigilance. The shock immobilizes him for a fraction of a second.

Potter, too, is immobilized. His bright eyes (so beautiful) are wide.

"Um," is the first sound to emerge from his mouth. Severus steels himself for whatever may come. 

"I think I did…something wrong," Potter says slowly, in almost a whisper. His eyes do not leave Severus'—and Severus can't bear to tear himself away.

"Why is that?" Severus asks, rationing his breath between perfectly even words. Potter's mind had retracted as if on a spring; Severus' barricades, restored, are worthy of a host of Dark Lords. 

Potter swallows, shifting his weight. He's unsure—poised to challenge—a little horrified, Severus observes. Severus dutifully ignores the awful sting of this knowledge.

"Because I—" Potter starts automatically. He shakes his head, shutting his eyes. "I must've bollocksed it up, I know I did—it's just too weird—"

Severus lets him mumble. If the boy will craft himself a convincing explanation, it will save Severus the trouble of doing the same.

"It's just—" Potter is looking dazed and yet he offers a weak laugh. "I thought it worked, for a second—it felt like I was in your mind, like I had done it properly and it was exactly as you said, I wasn't breaking in or forcing my way through or anything, but, you know, sharing…except I know it didn't work, really, because—" He huffs the sickly laugh once more and gives a prominent shrug of his shoulders, shaking his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Sorry." He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Severus' gaze remains level; he has become well-accustomed to disregarding the peculiar prickings in his chest. 

Potter's eyes open and he pushes out his chin with determination. "Let's give it another go. I think I must be close."

Severus nods shortly. He ensures that (this time) Potter won't succeed.

+++++

"You are trying too hard!" Severus bellows, his head aching to distraction.

"Five minutes ago I wasn't trying hard enough!" Potter bellows back, his narrow wrists swinging sharply down to his sides. "And now I'm trying _too_ hard? What in bloody hell do you want from me you miserable _wanker?_ "

Potter's mouth pinches together sharply—he takes a quick step back but he doesn't apologize and the flush on his skin remains, an unsettling stain. Severus gathers himself and grinds out the words.

"I _want_ you to do exactly as I say," he growls, at the end of his tolerance for Potter's frustration and his own. "Shut your eyes and focus!" he barks, the abrupt increase in volume startling the boy from his slouch. "You have but one desire!" he barks. Severus has but one desire.

"Well?" he demands when Potter stands, silent, with his fool eyes clamped closed behind his fool glasses, and nothing at all happens. Potter's forehead rises slightly; his closed eyes crease. Severus senses his approach and bats him away. "Clumsy!" he shouts. "You may as well use a hammer and tongs for all you'll get that way!" Potter adjusts his concentration, soundlessly mouthing the spell, and Severus feels the touch lighten, drifting at him in the manner of a fog.

"Too diffuse, Potter—where's your intent?" Severus thunders. "And now it is an unpleasant knuckle, digging away obtrusively—and now, like so much porridge—do you mean to smother my knowledge or to draw it out for your benefit? Use direction but not reins—instinct with deliberation—you aren't to _grasp_ at the knowledge but merely to—ah, and it seems we are back to the hammer—"

"If you would just shut _up_ for a fucking minute—"

"Potter, I will not because you are not exerting yourself to the fullest—which is to say that you're not applying what you've learned, not that you aren't grunting loudly enough! You've done it before—there's no reason you should—"

Potter's eyes have flashed open. Severus had expected this, but his stomach recoils nevertheless. 

"I've—what?" Potter says with his face still angry from the moment before. 

Severus speaks as if his mouth weren't running dry. "There's no reason you should find this as impossible as you seem to be finding it," Severus replies with great impatience. "You've already demonstrated that you are, in fact, capable of Legilimency—in at least rudimentary form—and as I know for a fact that Legilimency cannot be performed accidentally I'm left to ponder what the devil is keeping you from doing it again."

The boy simply stares at him, the lines easing from his face. The color on him that Severus so regrettably admired has gone. It is this, and not the despair of teaching Potter, that forces Severus' mouth open.

"Yes, it was on that occasion which you are now no doubt recalling," he spits out. He must keep his speech intelligible, but he can do no more. "Before our first lesson I thought you might manage some semblance of Legilimency. I abandoned that vain hope quickly enough but as you have since shown me the error of my ways I will insist that you cast a successful _Legilimens_ again, immediately, without further foot-dragging or trepidation at the distasteful facts you will unearth! NOW! _LEGILIMENS!_ "

The boy's cheeks flush in panic as Severus' spell strikes, plunging into Potter's mind—Severus feels the terror there for a heartbeat, then is sent reeling back, shoved out by the sweep of Potter's mental wall. It's fierce but would be fleeting, were it not for the heft of the _Legilimens_ that follows.

There's a moment in which Severus cannot push away, too small for a sound or a full swallow of air, and before the next breath has flowed from his lungs Severus is aware that Potter is _here._

Severus breaks the boy's work with a half-formed thought but he already knows—Potter already knows. Potter can have no doubt that he has cast it correctly. Severus stares hard at Potter's unnaturally round eyes.

"You astonish me, Mr. Potter!" he declares sarcastically. "Two-tenths of a second of genuine Legilimency—significant progress! I daresay my work here is through."

Potter's lips part noiselessly. 

Severus whirls back to his desk, slipping his wand into his sleeve. "Now that you have a firm command of the spell, please be so good as to remove yourself from my sight." He regains his chair and flings a hand to a quill, and from the corner of his eye he glimpses the pallor in the rigid set of Harry's face, before the boy turns and fairly flies from the room.

+++++

"You're in love with me. But you don't want to be."

Severus considers airing his adamant view on bribing passwords from house-elfs and barging into a headmaster's office in the middle of the day, but Potter's terse words match his slope-shouldered stance. He looks smaller than usual with his chin lowered that way, standing before Severus' outsized desk.

Severus' mouth presses in; he waits mutely for Potter to continue, the ink from his quill blotting blackly on the letter to the Minister for Education.

"That's what I saw—last time—was I right? Did I do it right?" Potter asks the question with a note of savagery. Severus has no kind thought for the sudden pang in his chest. He inhales deliberately and resumes writing his letter, banishing the blotch with a clipped motion of his quill.

"Tell me if I did it right," Potter says in a careful non-shout, the syllables running together. 

"No faith in your own spellwork? Tsk," Severus answers calmly. "The Auror Division can't look upon that very well."

"No, it's just—I can't believe it!" Potter's voice pitches slightly at the end, and Severus doesn't need a single glance to hear his distress. It exacerbates the disquiet Severus endures in Potter's presence—he stifles the urge to soothe the boy.

"That was my sentiment exactly," he replies. "Legilimency requires an aptitude for concentration you've rarely exhibited."

"So I _did_ do it right!" Potter shoots back with a bizarre _aha!_ gesture. Severus raises his head to see the brief triumph in Potter's face waver into apprehension. "I did it…and you're really, you're really…why didn't you tell me?" 

Severus responds with a grunt of disbelief. He's doubly irritated because the damned letter isn't getting done.

"That hardly merits an answer," he sneers, writing as neatly as can be expected under this sort of duress. "Now if you'll kindly leave—"

"How'd it happen?" Potter presses. "I could tell it wasn't—it wasn't natural—"

Severus chokes off an incredulous noise. Natural, indeed!—but boy is reeling off questions at him with a piercing insistence. "—was it a spell or something? An accident? When did it happen? How long have you—has it been like this? And how come you didn't _say_ anything—"

"I don't have time for this ridiculous interrogation," Severus cuts in brusquely. "Get out."

"Was it amortentia? Why were you brewing—but it probably wasn't you, you wouldn't have fouled it up—"

"Out of my office, Potter!" Severus lunges to his feet. "NOW!"

Potter falls silent with a flinch and stares up at Severus—and mutters _Legilimens_ under his breath.

Severus throws up his shields as Potter crashes in—he is momentarily aghast at the boy's temerity but it has no effect on the strength of his defense. Potter jerks a step back, cleanly rebuffed.

"How dare you," Severus snarls, leaning forward on closed fists. "How dare you attempt such an intrusion!" He lets the rage boil as high and wildly as it will go, so that it may eclipse all other emotions. It is pure relief.

"I want to know what's going on," Potter says, undeterred. 

Severus is aware this is Potter—but he cannot believe his ears. He whips around the edge of the desk, nearly cuffing his thigh against a corner, and stalks toward the child.

"Get out of my office in the next instant or I shall see to it that you are removed from the Auror program for your abuse of Legilimency," Severus tells him, very quietly. He doesn't stutter with the fury but he can feel it pulsating violently in his wand hand. Potter recedes another step as Severus approaches. 

"Give me another lesson," Potter answers, nearly too low to hear. Severus' eyes can barely take the strain.

"You stumble in here uninvited for no purpose other than to waste my time and to speak out of turn," Severus hisses, "then force your incompetent mental probing on me in violation of all decency, not to mention the law—and you have the gall to demand that I _give you another lesson_ so that you may satisfy your curiosity as to a certain _unnatural_ state of affairs?" His head is whirling—Potter is utterly beyond the pale. Severus drives a hand into his robes and clutches at his wand.

The boy is looking at him. "No," he mutters, as if it hurts his jaw. "Not to satisfy my curiosity—to learn Legilimency." Potter stops, then continues grindingly, "I shouldn't have tried to—I'm sorry for that—but maybe I can help—"

"Enough," Severus says roughly. It's more than enough, for to his despair, Severus feels the heat of his anger begin to trickle away. "I've letters to write," he says, turning his back on Potter to march back to his desk. It's difficult to talk with his throat so tight. "Day after tomorrow. Eight o'clock in the evening. I expect a far better showing than your abominable display today." He sits down and jams his quill into the inkpot with an unbecoming viciousness and he does not risk lifting his eyes from the parchment until he hears Potter has gone.

+++++

Potter arrives two minutes early to the next lesson, and two minutes early to the one following that. A month passes with the lessons, and two, and by the time the end of term is in sight, Potter, remarkably, has acquired a working familiarity with Legilimency. It's nothing approaching fluency with or mastery of the skill, as Severus reminds him bluntly one afternoon, pushing aside an attempt that was intended to be covert. Severus has allowed this, as a challenge for the boy—Potter is free to use Legilimency in any manner during lessons, to cull whatever information he can from Severus' brain. Thus far he has discovered the essential facts behind the Dark Lord's love malediction and has pledged to undo it, despite Severus' jeers. He is, however, abiding by his promise to Severus to focus on Legilimency first, and quixotic follies second.

"No," Potter agrees with a loose shrug. "But I think I'm getting there—just needed the right motivation, I guess." He tilts his mouth at Severus in a grin.

Severus compresses his lips. He insists to himself that this is flagrant arrogance, that Potter is fully cognizant of their respective positions and that Potter is _using_ his own to his advantage, to draw from Severus some loathsome concession, some slip of sentiment…It is fist-gnawingly maddening, and it will not work.

"It seems the Dark Lord fell short in that respect, or you would've learned Occlumency and started in on this years ago," Severus responds acidly. 

Harry has learned to remain unruffled by such jibes. "I don't think so," he replies, pretending at nonchalance while making another pass at Severus' mind. "I was motivated by Voldemort because of fear and hate, whereas now I'm being motivated by love. And love is far more powerful, remember?" He meets Severus' eyes with that wretched quirk of his mouth.

Severus grimaces, caught for an instant between choking, laughing, and a furious shout. Potter's brazenness verges on farcical—it nearly distracts Severus from the task at hand. 

"Indeed," Severus says, swiping at Potter's mental thrust. 

"What made you first interested in Legilimency, sir?" Potter asks, dashing at Severus' mind once more. 

Severus frowns. "Too much," he instructs. "You can't allow your Occlumency to slip in your eagerness to read your target."

"Sorry," Potter says, and Severus is gratified by Potter's renewed efforts. 

"You know, you're no Quasimodo," Potter unexpectedly blurts.

"What?" Severus asks sharply. He pushes his own mind at Potter's.

"I mean," Potter starts wildly, mustering his defense.

"Never mind," Severus snaps. "Remember Legilimency is not to be used as a crude tool of theft—"

"You're really striking," Potter goes on. He's obviously trying to put Severus off-guard again. "On my first day at Hogwarts I noticed you straight off—at the head table—though it's hard not to notice someone like you—"

"Mr. Potter I have no idea what you're raving about but I'm quite past caring," Severus interrupts, "and these pitiful diversionary attempts will not aid you if your opponent is intent on concealing his thoughts. _Legilimens._ "

Potter scrunches his face as he battles back. "I wasn't trying to distract you," he grits out. "I just wanted…to tell you…"

Stern-faced, Severus crushes the reach of Potter's questing mind, but just a hair too late. Potter lets out a yelp, breaking off his latest mental foray.

"You know the cure!" 

"What?" Severus snaps.

"I saw! Just now! There's a—a book with an incantation—why haven't you used it? You can't actually _want_ to be under this curse still? Unless the curse forces you to—"

"The malediction replicates true love, Potter, it does not compel me to do anything!" Severus hisses. "And of course I'd gladly have it dispensed with—"

"Then what's keeping you—"

"—however, in keeping with the typical vagaries of magic, such a task requires assistance from those least likely to assist!"

"What? Who? I'm sure we could get—"

"You, you halfwit!" Severus half-shouts it, then damns himself for doing so. Yes, he is having a rather trying day—but no more so than the rest of them. Perhaps it is his proximity to the boy. He sighs tiredly and shuts his treacherous mouth.

Potter is silent, until he says, "Why didn't you ask me?"

Severus turns toward his desk. "Lesson's over."

"No, Professor—why didn't you just ask me?" Potter is coming closer; the question is a demand.

Severus ignores it and pulls out his chair; he sits down. He considers the various stacks of waiting paperwork on his desk.

"You thought I'd botch it."

Severus settles on a draft article for _The Journal of Theoretical and Applied Potions_ ; his comments are due tomorrow and an initial glance had indicated that the paper is worlds—and possibly solar systems—away from publication standards. Well, what could one expect from a hack like DeLancie—the man is notorious for rushing his papers to press—

"Professor," Harry says, his frustration evident. "I know you don't have a lot of confidence in me but there are some things that I can do right, and this would've been one of them—I would've taken every precaution, I would've practiced that incantation over and over—"

"That's all quite reassuring and quite beside the point," Severus breaks in harshly. "The incantation is part of a rite that calls for acts beyond either of our capabilities to perform. This lesson is _over_ and you will leave this room—"

"What acts?" Harry asks. He is sitting in one of the chairs across from the desk.

"I won't discuss it further—I've other things to attend to—"

"Just tell me where I can find—"

"You are not to waste your time with hare-brained schemes to rescue me from the malediction—you are to focus on Legilimency—"

"I'd do anything for you—why don't you want my help?" 

Severus jerks his head up. It's been many years since cruelty by mockery has disabled his fortitude but he is worn thin, thin to the point of transparency, and he is ready to curse Potter's mouth clean. He nearly coughs on the invective when he meets the boy's eyes, and he reads the real plea in the boy's stubborn chin.

He stares at Harry, to give himself a breath, then tells him slowly, "The rite involves, among other things, a…certain intimacy."

Potter's jaw shifts slightly. When Severus doesn't continue, he finally asks, "Meaning…?"

"It isn't entirely clear," Severus says, gauging Potter's discomfort. This is only to appease the boy's idle curiosity—Severus won't allow Potter to chance the nullification rite. "What _is_ clear, however, is that you must be made to recognize the—depth of my feeling for you, and you must choose not to accept it."

Potter frowns, looking serious and quizzical. "I have to—reject you?"

"If only it were so easy as that," Severus says dryly. "No, Potter—you must reject love. Genuine love—the sort that appears too frequently in verse and too rarely in life."

"But I thought it wasn't real—you can't tell me you'd be, you know, towards me, if it weren't for the malediction."

"It replicates love; re-creates it as only the dark arts can, so that in all respects the emotion harbored by the bearer is authentic," Severus says with precision. "The only material difference lies in the circumstances giving rise to its existence—which is why some have speculated that, absent the nullification rite, the emotion will not completely fade with the passage of time. However, others have argued that this is simply another aspect of love as it operates in its usual course."

Harry is nodding slowly, taking his cue from Severus and adopting an air of scholarly interest, much to Severus' relief. "So—if we don't do this nullification rite, you'd be stuck with the, er, these emotions, for good. But the nullification rite is difficult, because I'd have to turn down what seems to be true love. But afterwards, you'd be back to your normal self again. Right?"

Severus creases his forehead and does his best to set aside his incredulity at this entire exchange. "As an initial matter, I'm entirely my normal self in all respects save one," he answers crisply, "but from the few accounts I've come across, yes, the nullification rite would remove the malediction's effects, over a period of time, provided there is nothing between the parties enabling the effects to linger on."

"How much time? Days? Years?"

Severus merely shrugs. "Years, in all likelihood—love is no passing fancy. Historical records have been remarkably quiet on this particular brand of curse."

"Oh," Harry says. He pauses and just as Severus is about to demand his departure, Harry asks, "So when should we do it? Have you got the book here—the one describing the nullific—"

"You appear to have leapt to the outlandish conclusion that I've agreed to take part in such a rite," Severus says icily. 

"It's not outlandish," Harry retorts. "You're under a curse, but there's a remedy, and my involvement is needed. So I'm going to be involved. What's wrong with that?"

"You've no idea of the enormity of the potential dangers—"

"I know it probably won't be easy and that there isn't a lot written about what happens if you get it wrong—but I reckon they can't be worse than what we've been through before." He stands up and begins hovering over the books on Severus' desk, scanning the bindings for titles. "You said we had to be intimate—I assume we're to have sex, which seems reasonable given—"

"It does _not_ , Mr. Potter, and you will cease rifling through my things at once!" Severus thunders. The _presumption_ of the boy nearly has Severus shaking. He refuses—utterly refuses—to dwell on Harry's suggestion.

"Well then, what?" Harry is at one of the bookshelves, pushing and pulling at books. His demeanor makes it clear that he has decided upon a course of action and will not be swayed. Severus suddenly cannot bear the boy's presence further—not today. He stalks over to the shelf.

"As refreshing as it is to see you charging to _my_ aid for once, I will ask you not to disarray my books—and my day's obligations—any further," Severus says, in a tone as terse as Harry's. "If you insist, I will owl you the volume."

"Please do," Harry answers. "And when should I come back so we can get the rite done?"

"I have disgruntled parents to placate, who will be arriving here shortly. You will not be here." Severus responds through the acute desolation that has abruptly possessed him. He turns to his desk and jerks an arm toward the door, gathering the dregs of his composure when Potter finally leaves.

+++++

"You're determined to forge ahead, then," Severus says. He keeps his countenance grim because it has been several weeks since his last sight of the boy, and the absence has rendered Severus' heart ill. In the interim he has nearly summoned Harry half a dozen times, on half a dozen pretenses. On each occasion, his self-restraint was victor—yet if Harry hadn't appeared at his door this afternoon, unannounced—Severus cannot say whether he would've found himself in the school owlery, looking after the messenger as it soared into the night. As it is he cannot help but note the flutter of the boy's eyes, the movement of his mouth, the flex of his hands as he gestures and talks animatedly about something Severus can't fully follow. He frowns and exerts himself.

"…probably our best bet, especially now that I've passed my Legilimency exam!" Harry finishes by sitting back in his chair with an expectant look at Severus.

Severus avoids changing expression as he mentally scrambles for a recovery. What had the boy been saying? Severus hasn't the faintest and stabs in the dark.

"How completely asinine," he replies with a grunt.

"What?" Harry protests, his hair quavering with indignation. "What could be more intimate than Legilimency—other than, you know—the option you won't consider? You said yourself the nullification rite doesn't require any specific medium as long as it's intimate!"

"I said the description of the rite didn't _appear_ to call for an exact procedure," Severus corrects acerbically, "and I hardly think you're prepared for the type of Legilimency that would be necessary in this case, your Auror achievements notwithstanding. Furthermore it's too risky—this is no silly jinx—"

"Why's that?" Harry shoots back. "You know I'm decent at Legilimency now. Maybe even good."

"I wouldn't go that far," Severus says.

"Fine," Harry goes on impatiently, "whatever—you could make it work, though, you're the best Legilimens in the world. And the intimacy bit is the hardest part. I know this rite isn't something people do every day but it's worth the risk if it means you'll be curse-free!"

"I live amongst children—I shall never be curse-free," Severus mutters. "And you are sadly mistaken—the most challenging part of attempting the rite—assuming you're fool enough to remain wedded to the idea and I'm fool enough to be persuaded—does not relate to the requisite closeness between us." Severus fixes an impassive and teacherly gaze on Harry. "The most challenging part of the whole ludicrous rite will be down to you. It is an uncommon soul who can resist the promise of love. Were our situations reversed, there is no guarantee that I would manage it myself. If we begin the rite and you are unable to successfully deny the malediction, there is no clear indication of what you or I shall suffer." 

"No one's ever died from it, as far as we know," Harry points out, "or lost any limbs or anything. And it doesn't seem like the rite could make things much worse for you—from what I can tell you're doomed to permanent high-functioning misery if we don't do something—"

"A fate to which _I_ am accustomed but one which _you_ can be spared!" Severus lashes out. "I have devoted much of my life to ensuring that yours flourishes but until the malediction, I had never done it for your sake—now I do it for your sake alone. I do it willingly, gladly—nothing gives me greater joy. I have full possession of my faculties and I'm quite sensible that dark magic has brought this about but there is no one, there is nothing, on the face of this earth that I value above you. I would go to any lengths for your—" Severus is forced to pause. Something burns in his throat—the word he wants will not come. "—your happiness," he finishes. The torrent of confession has slowed now, and Severus can feel the beginnings of humiliation. He strives not to avert his eyes. "I say this to you even though it makes my already untenable circumstances absolutely unbearable, and I say also that I do not, and will not, have any misgivings, because you will have been warned as to what the consequences may be."

Severus stops speaking and simply looks at Harry. He is lovely to behold. A pale flush has stolen beneath his darkly green eyes and he is still, perfect, unmoving as if rapt. The room is silent, and only Severus' exhaustion prevents him from reaching across the desk to lay a hand upon the boy, to set him breathing again. 

+++++

On the day they have arranged to perform the rite, Severus is markedly irritable. He has docked countless House points and openly criticized most of the teachers, even letting loose a snide remark when Minerva offers to lead the staff meeting that afternoon. Later he apologizes by way of a curt nod and a passing mention of term-end preparations, which apology is accepted with a sniff and a questioning eye. After dinner Severus locks himself in his office, ignoring his Floo and owls while he hunches over his work, breaking quill nibs with shocking frequency until he hears Harry's knock.

"Hi," Harry says with a small smile. Severus senses his nervousness the instant he steps in.

"We should not do this," Severus answers, rising from his chair.

"I brought the book back," Harry says, ducking his head as he removes the bag from his shoulder. He lifts out the volume and looks at Severus. "Where should I put it?"

"I was wrong to concede to your reckless whims," Severus says, unable to stop himself from approaching the boy. "I won't jeopardize your well-being."

"Is it all right if we use your desk?" Harry asks as if Severus hadn't spoken. He starts going over, holding the book in his arms.

"Give that to me. We won't be doing the rite."

Harry nudges aside some parchment and discarded quills with his elbows and gently places the book down. "There." He opens it to a marked place and says, "Don't worry—I've got it memorized, but I thought it'd be good to have it here, just in case." He smoothes out the yellow pages bearing the incantation; they rustle softly in the stiff air of the room.

"Listen to me," Severus says sharply, moving to Harry's side, reaching for the book and pushing it shut with a thump. "We are not doing this. Your concern for me is wholly unnecessary—"

"You've said that before and I wish you'd stop!" Harry bursts out, turning to Severus suddenly. "This is the only way to lift the malediction!"

"There's no need," Severus returns, bristling. "I'm perfectly capable of suppressing its effects, as I have done, and we will leave it well enough alone—"

"You said you'd go to any lengths for my happiness!" Harry's face contorts as he hesitates. "Or weren't you serious?"

For an instant Severus is frozen—the anguish of that little speech has hardly lessened. "I was," he smiles tightly.

"Then do the rite with me," Harry says, his frown easing into—it looks like worry. "Please. I can't stand the thought of you being under this curse—of, of," he falters as Severus stares at him, "of someone else suffering because of me when they don't have to. Please."

Harry's face is very near and Severus looks down upon it for as long as he dares before he must shut his eyes to preserve his reason.

"Then as you wish," he murmurs, and opens his eyes. 

Relief and hope bring Harry's mouth curving up—Severus nearly reaches out—Harry straightens and faces Severus fully. 

"I'm ready," he says.

Severus inhales. He prays to all the gods that this will go rightly.

"Clear your mind," he says lowly, and waits for Harry's nod. Harry's eyes are focused. "Take my hand."

Harry takes them both without hesitation, fitting his fingers between Severus' as if he's done it a thousand times.

"As we discussed," Severus says through the lurching of his belly. "I will cast Legilimens first—you are not to Occlude me. I'll recite my part of the incantation. When I tell you to, you must do the same. When you've finished the incantation, you must close yourself to me. Not just your thoughts, but the whole of yourself—you must sever yourself from me. Don't hesitate, despite what the rite may provoke you to feel—focus on distancing yourself from me. Do you understand?"

Harry's jaw is determined—his eyes are wide as he nods.

Severus squeezes the boy's hands on instinct, barely noticing what he does. "Good. Once I've begun reciting, we must not stop until the nullification rite is complete. No matter what—we must not stop until it is complete." He stops and gazes at the boy, keeping his features deliberately steady though his lungs ache badly, straining against his ribs. "I must ask one more time—do you truly wish to go through with this?"

Harry's fingers curl more closely around his. "Yeah," he whispers.

Severus' lips compress. He casts _Legilimens._

The boy does as instructed—he doesn't resist; he remains motionless as Severus flows into his mind, into the customary chaotic swirl of mental flotsam. Severus doesn't try to make sense of Harry's thoughts—he is not here to examine—and begins speaking. The words he utters were penned by a long-dead wizard, seeking to fasten love to flimsy dialect. They are tender, and plain, not of slavish devotion or grandiose exaltation, and Severus gives them to Harry in low and even tones, feeling each sound course from his heart to his hands. It is all true, all of it, and as Severus speaks aloud the ancient gentle-fervent words the longing in him rises in a fearsome swell, making breath superfluous when Severus finishes at last. 

_Cast,_ he tells Harry, tightening small fingertips in the hutch of his palms. _Cast Legilimens._

Harry does it and passes into Severus' mind. 

The suddenness of understanding is overwhelming, a flood—Harry's wrists jerk as if to pull away but Severus holds firm. He cannot let the boy go.

_The incantation,_ he tells Harry silently, in love. Another moment—another moment in which Severus does not bridle his care—and with a tenuous voice Harry begins to recite.

Severus' fingers seize around the boy's as his heart is dismantled, methodically, one syllable at a time, and it is all he can do to remain upright and conscious—the malediction, it seems, takes offense at its removal. If he could think, Severus might liken the sensation to being repeatedly kicked in the gut with a steel-toed boot, perhaps worn by a Dementor who has also somehow acquired the ability to wield a wand and the Cruciatus. Severus' jaw locks but abruptly—it stops. Severus gasps for air.

_I can't,_ he hears despite the woozy spinning of his head. _I can't do it…_

Harry is whispering, aloud or not Severus can't tell but he can hear the fright in the boy's voice and at once he acts to dispel Harry's panic. 

_It's all right,_ Severus thinks quietly, caressing the backs of Harry's hands with each of his thumbs. _It's all right._ The boy is trembling—Severus pulls him closer and wills himself to fill his own mind with calm. Harry's presence in Severus seems to enlarge—his clutching fingers relax—his agitation ebbs slightly. 

_I stopped the incantation—_

_You must resume where you stopped—_

_Have I ruined it?_

_No—but you must resume where you stopped—_

_I don't want to—_

_I know—_

_I can't do it—_

_Harry—_

_I didn't know it was like this, I didn't know it was so—_

_I understand but you must continue it now—_

_No—_

_You must, my hart; I'll help you—_

_No—_

Harry's hands pinch around Severus' fingers; Severus welcomes the touch for it strengthens his intent to bring forth the memories. He is in the Shrieking Shack with his wand pointed at Lupin, with his wand pointed at Black; he is in Grimmauld Place sneering in Black's apoplectic face; he is screaming at Potter in a classroom, in a corridor, on a black hill lit by flames devouring the groundskeeper's hut. 

"Don't," Harry whispers, and Severus sees the movement of his mouth. Harry's eyes are glassy behind the lenses he wears—his fingers have gone cold from gripping Severus too hard. 

"Repeat what I say," Severus says in a deliberate rasp, for he would speak with love to the boy but he cannot. He cannot. "Ego reprobo vos."

Harry stumbles nearer until their forms collide and Severus finds his wrists being drawn to Harry's sides. Harry gropes for him, inside his head and out. Severus squeezes shut his eyes—he is killing Dumbledore. _Avada Kedavra!_ he cries and the flash of green is bright, obscuring the silver beard, tipping to the air as the headmaster falls. Severus also falls—he falls to his knees in worship before a rough-hewn throne. _The prophecy, my Lord. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…_

"DON'T!" Harry shouts. The sound grieves Severus but he quickly loses cognizance of everything save Harry's voice, calling out the remnants of the incantation that will cleanse Severus of the malediction, and of the vestiges of his soul. Severus suffers, he suffers, pressed to death by eternal lack and when the fitful chanting ends and Harry finishes the incantation he knows it will be torment, but also mercy, when Harry breaks from him.

Harry does not. He holds Severus' mind; he holds Severus' hands. Severus sees Harry's thoughts begin to find a single thought and he sees Harry's heart begin to bear that thought up and before Severus allows himself to see any more he shouts " _Occlumens!_ " hoarsely, disengaging their hands and cutting Harry away. 

+++++

Of the varied sorts of fear that Severus has had occasion to contemplate, it seems to him that apprehension in connection with a social meeting must be the very worst. Too trivial to justify as genuine fear, it is nevertheless troubling—a _concern_ that cannot simply be overlooked. It causes Severus to frown clear into the afternoon, and to ensure that he's in the midst of a critical task with a looming deadline when the knocking commences at his door.

"Come," he barks out, not raising his head until he feels Potter's presence, hovering at the far end of his study. 

"It's wonderful to see you again, Professor."

With deliberate reluctance and his frown intact, Severus looks up—and feels his breath catch. 

The warmth in Harry's greeting also shines in his face, which is longer and more angular than Severus remembers. In fact Harry is longer and more angular as a general matter, Severus quickly notes, though his eyes are still peering and hemmed in by glasses, his hair is still a multi-directional affair, and he is entirely as captivating as the day he fled from Severus' sight, never to return. Until now.

"Potter," Severus says, observing niceties and nothing more. Harry's smile is undimmed as he strides toward Severus' desk. "I understand you've become quite a magnificent Auror, praised in all quarters without reserve."

Harry chuckles. "And I understand you've become quite a magnificent headmaster, drawing comparisons to the founders themselves. "

Against his very best intentions Severus is charmed by the throaty sound of Harry's laugh, and the air of unassuming likeability he has mysteriously acquired. "You run in circles rather different to mine," he replies, arching a brow. "I've long ago learned that all the good in the world is to be attributed to the board of governors, while all the fault lies squarely with this office. Do sit down."

Harry laughs again and sits, in the chair he used to prefer, tucking the tails of his robes (a flattering crimson) aside.

"May I offer you tea," Severus says, marking his progress before shuffling parchment and books away.

"Are you busy just now? I can keep this short," Harry says quickly.

Severus looks at Harry's earnest face—yes, more angular than in the newspaper photographs. "I think I can tolerate more than a moment," he answers, dropping his gaze. "It's been some time since I've had to deal with a Potter; I've built up some reserves."

Harry's smile is a tinge abashed. "Seven years, sir, almost to the day. I think term had just ended when I finished my training and was sent off on my first assignment."

"That was overseas, was it not?" Severus asks. He knows it was in Ireland, because Potter had written him a letter about it. Potter had taken up the habit of writing, for the first year or so, but the letters had slowed, then stopped—likely in part due to Severus' terse and infrequent responses. Severus had found it to be—a trial, choosing the words to write to Harry.

"Well, Ireland first, for a bit," Harry says, and nods when Severus summons the tea kettle and lifts it toward Harry questioningly. "Thank you. I went to India after that."

"Yes, of course, it was India I was thinking of," Severus replies, extending a small plate of biscuits to his guest. Harry had not liked India at the beginning—the letters from there had been weighed with homesickness, until he had settled in for a few months. "You were sent to…Thailand following that, I believe?"

Harry's wide smile makes Severus' lungs compress in a way they have not done in many years. "That's right," he beams, obviously pleased that Severus remembers. He takes a biscuit from the plate, nodding his thanks, and continues, "Then I went to Vietnam and Malaysia, and then to just about everywhere else, it feels like."

"Ah, I had not heard of your travels in Malaysia." Severus sips his tea.

Harry shrugs and swallows a bite of biscuit. "It's bloody hot there and the mosquitoes are about the size of my face. And they're fearless!" he declares. "I can't tell you how many times I wished I had some kind of anti-mosquito potion or something, because repelling charms were totally useless. So was the Muggle stuff."

"You should've mentioned it; I'm sure it's a simple brew," Severus says.

"Oh, well, I got used to it eventually, and I knew you were busy," Harry answers with a smile. "How have things been, anyway? The castle's still standing so the students clearly haven't driven you to any seriously drastic measures." Harry grins when Severus casts doubt on this assessment by lifting his brow. "Actually," Harry says, "I passed a few of them on my way up here—I saw Professor McGonagall and Professor Vector too—and everyone looked quite happy and well." He pauses, as if about to say something, then adds, "You look very well yourself." He takes a quick sip of tea.

Severus smiles wryly. "It's the end of term—the students have nothing to do but frolic and Professors McGonagall and Vector are blessed with teaching assistants, who are undoubtedly shut away in the darkest corners of the castle, weeping and cursing and marking exam papers." He takes in Harry's grin over the rim of his teacup. 

"What about you?" Harry asks. "How's the end of term treating you?"

Severus shakes his head dismissively. "It doesn't bear thinking about. Aside from the usual nonsense with O.W.L.s and N.E.W.Ts, I'm working on several publications—including one on the wizarding educational system"—he snorts in disbelief—"and will be installing a new Defence professor—"

Harry looks up eagerly. "I'd heard about that—and actually I wanted to talk you about it. Professor McGonagall said you were still taking applications?"

Severus stiffens. He should've known there was cause for alarm; there always is, with Potter, unfailingly…but Potter had never shown any interest in teaching—

"If the position's been filled, of course I understand," Potter is saying, clearly doing his best not to sound as disappointed as he looks. "Hermione first told me about it months ago and Professor McGonagall said you might've narrowed it down already—I thought it was probably too late but I—there were things—I should've put my name in earlier…oh well, I'm sure I'll live…"

Severus concludes he must be rusty at dealing with Potter, for he hears himself answering in a slow voice, "That is not a guarantee I make to those who become teachers here…but as to your question, the position has not, as of yet, been filled."

Harry brightens immediately. "Would you mind if I—that is, could I send my CV and references and all that to Professor Tate? Hermione said applications were to be directed to—"

"If you truly wish to be considered, send everything to me tonight," Severus says briskly, having gathered himself. "We have a meeting tomorrow morning to review the final list of applicants. You're aware that new teachers are hired on a provisional basis for the first year and are asked to stay on permanently subject to a satisfactory evaluation?" 

Harry nods. "Yes; I got all the details from Professor McGonagall—it all sounds in order."

Severus scrutinizes him for a moment, then continues, "I should say—teaching children is dull and infuriating and routine—it bears no resemblance to traveling the world, engaging with new people and new experiences on a regular basis. Are you really prepared to give up your illustrious career as an Auror for the humdrum existence of a school teacher? I trust you have given this application sufficient thought and are not merely—"

"I have," Potter interrupts, then repeats in a more respectful tone, "I honestly have. You've no idea how hard I've thought about it." He looks at Severus and his mouth curves in a small smile that Severus will not dissect. "I've been going round the houses doing Auror business for seven years and don't mention it to the Auror Division, but I've always meant to come back—it was just a matter of when. It's been a long time to be away—enough, I hope." He cocks his head slightly and leans forward, opening his mouth—then his eyes fall to his teacup. A faint flush begins to show underneath his eyes; Severus keeps still despite the sudden discomfort in his chest.

"I've—really missed this, being here. At Hogwarts," Harry says, looking up again with an embarrassed smile, though Severus can think of no reason on earth for embarrassment at such a thing.

+++++

The next day, after the morning faculty meeting, Severus sits down at his desk and unrolls a blank sheet of parchment. He pauses with his hand upon the quill, distracted by the erratic and ludicrous thoughts in his head and the tumbling in his stomach that no concoction of peppermint or ginger can soothe. It is not altogether unpleasant, and not unlike the malediction. 

_Congratulations, Professor Potter._ Severus writes with a frown. Then he sends it off, before he can make his situation any more difficult than it is wont to be.

+++++

It develops that Potter is not bad at teaching. He isn't innately gifted at it either, which is (presumably) why he uses Legilimency on his students, as Severus comes to learn. He remarks on this at dinner one evening, when Harry takes his customary seat at Severus' left.

"Who told you that?" Harry asks mildly. 

"If one waits to be told, one will never hear anything of interest in this school," Severus returns. "It's a persistent topic of conversation in corridors, not to mention during detentions—the way Professor Potter has an uncanny knack for knowing what one is thinking at any given time. There are some conjectures that it's actually a dark art that you might be persuaded to teach."

"You supervise detentions?" Harry asks, with a gleam of hope in his eye.

Severus spears a potato. "Occasionally, as a favor to the senior faculty such as Minerva. Not for the likes of the unproven, such as yourself."

"What's that?" Minerva looks round, breaking off her conversation with Pomona. 

"I was simply commenting on Potter's use of Legilimency in his classes," Severus begins, but Minerva leans forward to look past Severus.

"Oh yes," she interrupts, fixing Potter with a stern eye, "Severus finds it terribly amusing but I'm sure the parents would be less than pleased if they knew."

"You have to admit it's effective, Professor McGonagall—and as for the parents, they won't hear it from me!" Harry answers. Somehow, even as a fully grown adult, his grin carries a certain boyish cheek that puts Severus in mind of—

"Don't smirk, Severus, you'll only encourage poor teaching habits in him," Minerva admonishes, turning her stern eye to Severus. 

"My dear woman," Severus protests. "I've hardly—"

"A fine example you make! Never mind; Pomona, apologies for the interruption—you were saying…?"

Severus glances sideways at Potter, who is apparently intent on cutting his roast chicken. 

"No worries, Professor Snape—I know you're the _real_ headmaster," Potter says without looking over.

"What a comfort," Severus answers dryly. He can't help but smile, though, when Harry does.

+++++

"Severus?" Potter calls out. Severus is startled by the intersection of that voice and his given name—it's the first time Potter has taken the liberty and it's _strange_ to Severus' ear. "Severus?" Potter asks again. "Do you mind coming over here for a minute?" If Severus is honest with himself (which he tries to avoid these days in respect of certain particulars), it's rather agreeable, upon a second hearing. 

Severus puts down his journal and crosses the staffroom to where Potter leans against the couch where Filius sits, looking over Filius' shoulder. 

"Oh, Severus," says Filius, "here's a fascinating article on a new sort of experimental charm—it's currently being tested as a defense against subtropical mosquitoes, believe it or not. Harry mentioned to me before that he's had a horrid time with the creatures during his adventures as an Auror, and I was just pointing it out to him so he can pass it on to his friends still in the forces, in case it might be helpful." Severus leans in to follow Filius' tiny gesturing fingers, skimming along the text. "But see here," Filius continues excitedly, "it cites to one of your papers!"

Severus looks on in some surprise. "Ah. One of my earliest—only tangentially related, I'm sure—"

"Harry spotted your name there straightaway—my word the print gets smaller every year but I suppose you've got to have sharp eyes in Defence!—and said the two of you had discussed a repellent potion at some point?" Filius looks from Harry to Severus enthusiastically. "In any case, Severus, I was wondering if you're aware of any further progress in that direction, forthcoming papers, ongoing research, work of that nature—you see I think it might be worth a letter to the author…"

"I'll leave the two of you to it then, shall I?" Harry grins, slipping off the armrest while Filius patters on. "All this academia may be too much for me."

"That's not a sentiment you should be sharing—" Severus starts, but Harry squeezes his shoulder with a smile and saunters off. Severus is silenced. His heart, however, is not. 

+++++

It's outright deafening, his heart, whenever Harry touches him. It seems absurd he should do it as often as he does—yet it's never awkward or out of place, whether at a meal, during a staff meeting, or during a chance encounter in the hall. Harry seems to enjoy his company too—there is always a friendly word on his tongue—and he seems to seek Severus out for conversation, serious and idle. In one instance Severus witnesses him giving detention to a couple of second-years for disparaging remarks regarding Severus' appearance. _You are to show Professor Snape every respect,_ Harry had warned them, with a severity he hadn't thought Harry possessed. _Every respect, is that clear?_

If Severus were a lesser man, he'd be flattered by Harry's sincere admiration and be tempted to interpret the attentions to his own liking. As it is, he is too sensible for self-delusion of this kind.

"Severus!" Harry is rushing up the corridor, stuffing student papers into his bag. "Oh good, I can't be late to the meeting if you're not there yet—got caught up with Williamson again, good lord, he's a bottomless pit full of questions—sometimes I just want to tell him to shut it and figure it out himself!" Harry catches up, breathing fast, faintly flushed. "But I have to listen to him at least—I mean I'm his Defence professor; I'd feel guilty otherwise."

"That's ridiculous," Severus replies, his walk slowing somewhat. "I almost never listened to students and look where I am now."

Harry laughs next to him, clapping a hand to his shoulder with a "Fair point!"

When they reach the staff room, Severus' heart still pounds.

+++++

It's a Sunday this year and Severus should be preparing for his Monday morning with the staff. Or answering owls from the N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. examiners. Or reviewing the classroom arrangements for additional revision and study sessions. Instead he stands in his office, between an end table and a bookshelf, and gazes up at the wall.

"Another year, Albus," he says to himself. The portrait's figure is sleeping now but Severus has no doubt he'll be awake later, ready to liven Severus' spirits with cryptic platitudes and painted sherbet lemons. Severus watches the peaceful rise and fall of his beard, draped over resplendent glittering purple robes, and wishes his own mind could be so at ease.

A light knock at the door jars the silence; the portrait stirs and blinks open blue eyes. 

"What's that? Oh, hullo, Severus!"

Severus gives the painting a faint smile in return as another knock sounds.

"Severus? It's Harry," comes a muffled voice.

Severus' smile fades into irritation. Albus sits up in his squashy armchair and says, "The door, my boy. It sounds like Harry."

"Yes, thank you," Severus replies impatiently, whirling for the door. He is in no mood for Potter's antics at the moment. He crosses the room swiftly, swings the door wide enough to thrust his face out, and tells his visitor in no uncertain terms to piss off.

"Severus—"

"Disturb me any other night but not tonight!" Severus snarls before withdrawing his head and beginning to shove the door closed.

"Wait a sec—"

"Harry?" asks Albus from where he hangs on the wall. His voice is unexpectedly robust for an old man done in oils. "Is that you? Come in, come in!"

"Professor Dumbledore, hi!" Harry calls through the still-open door. Severus can't see him but he can hear him perfectly. Apparently the headmaster can as well.

"Ah, Harry, it _is_ you! Severus, let him in, won't you? Professor Snape and I were just having a little chat—or rather, we were about to—please, join us!"

Harry pushes at the door and peeps his head through. "Can I come in now?" he asks quietly. His eyes search Severus.

Severus grips the iron handle hard in his hand—then because he doesn't see pity, he pulls the door open. 

"Thanks," Harry murmurs as he comes into the room and makes his way over to Albus, who is beaming down. Severus takes care not to slam the door shut.

"How are your classes?" Albus is asking when Severus approaches. "I hope everything is coming along in the final stretch?"

"It's coming along," Harry says, smiling warmly. It deepens Severus scowl. "I'm nearly finished with putting together the final exams—I'll be handing those in to Professor Snape soon." He nods over at Severus. 

"They're due tomorrow," Severus says coldly.

"Of course," Harry answers quickly, just as Albus makes an approving noise.

"It's hard to believe you've nearly completed your first year as a Hogwarts professor," Albus rumbles in a distinctly nostalgic tone of voice. "I know it's not without its challenges, particularly at the beginning, but you seem to be carrying it off with grace, isn't that so, Severus?"

Severus' lips thin. He directs a stiff nod at Albus' ornate frame with a muttered, "Just so."

"Severus isn't so generous with his praise as he might be," Albus says amiably to Harry, "but the end of the year is the most harrowing time for headmasters the world over—and for Severus it can be even more burdensome for reasons I'm sure you under—" 

"Headmaster," Severus cuts in smoothly, "I'm certain Potter is just as pleased to see you as I, but I believe he came to discuss pressing end-of-term issues…if you'd like, perhaps we can resume this conversation later?"

Albus pauses and looks over his spectacles at Severus, his painted eyes twinkling. "A fine suggestion," he says. "I might just pop over to the little deathday party being given in my honor—Dilys was so gracious as to organize it again—but do send for me when you're through, Severus. And Harry, if you could make some effort to cheer him up, I'd appreciate it very much." With a twitch of his beard in Potter's direction, Albus pushes himself from his armchair and ambles out of view. 

Severus stares at the empty canvas and says, "Potter. What is it." Severus will not broach the subject of Harry's increasingly frequent visits to his office during Severus' rare hours to himself. He knows he should put an end to them before they draw notice, or worse—but as disconcerting as they are, Severus cannot bring himself to say a word.

Harry rustles beside him. "I suppose I'm to cheer you up." Severus senses him looking. "The top students in all my classes are Slytherins," Harry offers. "And, er—the least disciplined ones are all Gryffindors—"

Severus snorts and turns away. "Not surprising, but not encouraging—favoritism among the houses is unbecoming in the headmaster."

"That didn't stop Professor Dumbledore," Harry says. Severus glances over sharply—Harry wears a wry grin. "Remember my first year he gave the House Cup to Gryffindor at the leaving banquet when it should've gone to Slytherin?"

The memory brings a sudden twist to Severus' chest and a quirk to his mouth. "You and your friends attempted to prevent me from getting to the Philosopher's Stone."

Harry groans and closes his eyes in an exaggerated grimace. "God. How awful was that—I'm sorry I was such a shit of a child." His eyes open again. "It's horribly obvious in retrospect that you were only trying to save me all those years—picking on me in class, insulting me at every turn."

Severus feels himself warming to Harry's tongue-in-cheek expressions—it would be unwise to continue in his melancholy state. "Water under the bridge, Professor Potter," Severus says briskly. He straightens and faces Harry. "I'm afraid I won't make good company this evening. If there's nothing you needed, I'll wish you good night." He eyes the door, briefly, then moves to a nearby bookshelf to pull out a book.

Harry's grin eases; he nods and steps toward the door, only to stop as he reaches to open it.

"Severus, do you mind if I ask…?"

Severus is watching him but pretends otherwise when Harry turns back.

"Out with it," Severus says off-handedly, to all appearances absorbed in the index of his book.

"The nullification rite worked, didn't it?"

The air leaves Severus' lungs—it takes him a few beats to raise his head. Harry is running a hand through his hair; his brow is thoroughly wrinkled as he lets out a thin laugh. "It's stupid, I know, given how much time has gone by—"

"Why do you ask?" Severus says, in a very careful voice. When Harry swallows but doesn't reply, the fear creeping through Severus solidifies to ice. "Have you been suffering—repercussions?" he asks, in the same low voice. Harry still doesn't answer and Severus snaps his book shut—anger, now, is hot behind his eyes. Anger, and great concern. "You promised to _inform me_ ," he hisses, sweeping toward Harry, who swivels his head up in surprise.

"What? No! No repercussions—" Harry stutters. His eyes have gone wide—they flicker back and forth between Severus' eyes. "I swear!" he insists, when Severus' glare doesn't abate. "There's nothing wrong with me—that wasn't my question! What I really meant to ask was—how did you manage before the nullification rite?"

Severus stares at him. "I see." He abruptly realizes he is standing too near and draws back. "Restraint," he says without emotion, "is an invaluable skill."

Harry's jaw shifts; it forms an odd smile. "So it's like Legilimency then. I'll never be as good at it as you are."

He grasps the door handle and yanks it forward. "See you tomorrow," he murmurs as he leaves the room. The door creaks and clicks closed; Severus waits for the seizure of his throat to diminish. 

+++++

That night's bizarre exchange bothers Severus; even more so because Harry takes it to heart. In the final weeks of the term, Harry is friendly and courteous—and distant. When he comes to meals he takes his ordinary seat next to Severus; when they pass in the hall he smiles and bids Severus a good day. He doesn't avoid Severus; he doesn't engage him. He doesn't lay a hand on Severus' sleeve, or shoulder; he doesn't bend near to speak anymore. 

Severus observes this. He tells himself he's too busy to afford it much thought. It's not far from the truth, and when the last exam has been given and the students have gone (blessed relief!), and the staff are fully occupied with marking, Severus' bone-deep fatigue allows him to deliver Harry's end-of-year assessment without ado.

"So, to sum up," he says wearily, leaning forward on his desk, "the staff and I are agreed that this year, you've demonstrated the qualities and abilities required to educate our students to the highest standards, and you are therefore welcome to join us for an indefinite term. Should you choose to do so, you will be evaluated every two years over the next ten years, and on a periodic basis, at the headmaster's discretion, thereafter. Compensation, of course, will be commensurate with seniority, as well as reflective of—"

"I'm in," Harry says, with a faint smile.

Severus pauses, then nods. "Very good. I've not had the chance to prepare the contract yet but I'll send it to you by owl before the end of the month—if you could sign it and return it at your earliest convenience, I'll send you a copy of the fully executed contract and we can have this settled before the start of the next term—which, I should caution you, always arrives much more quickly than one expects."

Harry has been even more reserved at this meeting than he has been of late, but now his smile widens. 

"I can see how that would be." His mouth remains parted for a moment, as if he would go on—but then he rises from his chair. "Well, thank you very much—and to the rest of the staff too," he says. "I'll go round and tell them myself, maybe when we've all made good headway into the marking—for all your help and advice this year. I never appreciated all that my professors had to go through to get me through seven years of this." 

Harry extends a hand and Severus, who has also got to his feet, shakes it. 

"Not quite so easy as it looks, hm?" Severus replies. He still remembers those fingers, grasping at his.

"It really isn't," Harry says. Then his hand stills around Severus'—his blandly pleasant smile falters. "Can I…?" he asks, in a sudden whisper. 

Before Severus can flinch or react Harry is closing on him, leaning over bookends and quills with a palm to the desk, his eyes large and green until their mouths touch and Severus' lids fall. Harry presses softly to him and stays. Severus stops breathing; their hands are still joined.

After some moments (infinite, startling, rarefied, joy) Harry turns aside his head. His cheek and his glasses are laid to Severus' face. 

"You'll sack me for that but I've tried—and I can't do restraint. I've wanted to do that for so long." His fingers slip between Severus' fingers and tighten, then release. Slowly, he eases back, not looking at Severus but at the bottles and papers on the desk. "I'm—I'm really sorry about making you find someone else," he says miserably.

"Someone else?" Severus asks. The evenness of his voice surprises him, for his heart must burst at this madness, this impossibility.

"Another Defence professor," Harry says, with an abortive glance at Severus' face. "I know how hard it is to—"

"Professor Potter, not two minutes ago I offered you the position for the foreseeable future and you happily accepted," Severus says, unable, at this instant, to soften the harsh note in his voice. "Truth be told the board of governors would rake me over the coals for failing to convince you to remain in your current post, so I'd be grateful if you would return for the autumn term, as promised."

Harry is distraught; his answering smile is wan. "Oh. Of course—I should've realized. Well, then. Thank you, headmaster, for your leniency. I—I guess I'll see you next term."

He turns and weaves around, stumbling slightly and mumbling _Sorry_ to his chair.

"Harry," Severus says.

"Hm?" Harry looks over automatically, dazed. 

"How long—" Severus inhales and frowns. The furious hammering in his ribs is nauseating. "It occurs to me that this—compulsion of yours may be a direct result of the nullification—"

Harry's shaking his head, with some vigor. "It was before the nullification rite. I don't think I quite realized it until—later, though." He looks at Severus sadly, and half-smiles. "Ironic, isn't it, that at some point we were actually in love with one another? Although you never loved me the way I love you." He laughs aloud then—it wrenches Severus' gut. "That might be the oddest thing I've ever heard." His smile widens for a moment, then he resumes toward the door.

Severus is hardly aware of what his limbs do but all at once his hand is in the crook of Harry's elbow and Harry is looking over in surprise, his mouth still curved in that wistful smile. Severus knows precisely how it feels. He has no earthly idea what to say.

"You're always wrong about me," he hears a low voice utter. It's his, he thinks numbly as he tilts his head down with his eyes on Harry's mouth, which is stiff. Then it gives way, and Harry arcs up, and Severus hasn't thought what to make of his own fingers and arms—unlike Harry, who's got a hand on Severus' chest and a hand at Severus' neck. Severus cages Harry to him by crossing his arms round Harry's back, but his hands—they curl into fists and hover, disbelieving, above Harry's spine. 

When Severus begins to pull away Harry catches his waistcoat, tugging, and Severus sees that Harry has slipped his fingers inside, between buttons. He lifts his eyes to Harry's darkly flushed skin—and allows himself to be pulled forward again. 

+++++

The next evening Severus is reviewing and compiling N.E.W.T. exam results, with the O.W.L.s to follow. He is surrounded by parchment, piles of scrolls, stacks of paper, quills snapped and ruffled and thrown to the ground in frustration. Time is running short—the marks must be published by the end of the week and Severus has vowed to _quit_ this mockery of a job if his bloody petition for _more time_ isn't finally taken up next year and what's more, it's bloody impossible to focus when he's got other affairs on his mind which are unquestionably more urgent.

There's a knock at the door and Severus shouts "What!" He just knows it's a house elf or Minerva or blasted Filch again, come to feed or to criticize or to complain, respectively. 

The door creaks open a bit—it's Harry's hair. Harry's face comes after, with a tentative _hi_.

"I—was wondering if you wanted company?" He slides himself the rest of the way through and leans there, by the door. "No talking needed—I brought my marking." He holds up a rumpled sheaf of papers and gives Severus a grin.

For a moment Severus cannot speak. He's not certain when, if ever, he will grow accustomed to this. 

Harry's grin turns uncertain. "Or…maybe I'll just see you tomorrow…"

Severus leaps to action. Scrolls cascade from his desk as he marches toward the door. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Harry a hard look. "You do realize I'm very busy, that I cannot brook distractions, that I need to concentrate?"

"Yes, of course," Harry sputters, "sorry to bother you—"

"Good," Severus says. He takes Harry's hand firmly and leads him in. Then he shuts the door.


End file.
